


You Have to Make a Move

by whtbout2ndbrkfst



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Basketball, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, First Kiss, Homophobia, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Minor Violence, Off Screen Violence, Romance, Sports, kind of at least idk a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whtbout2ndbrkfst/pseuds/whtbout2ndbrkfst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 1: Please always give me AUs in which John and Sherlock overcome the homophobic world of professional sports and eventually come out with a big gay fuck you. (@librarylock)</p>
<p>Prompt 2: basketball. I mean… can you imagine?! Because I sure as fuck can’t (@murlockholmes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever written for public consumption, so I just hope it's not too terrible. I had fun.  
> I don't own any of these characters nor do I know any of the players of the New York Knicks, or any other NBA player and their thoughts on the LGBTQ+ community. I made it all up.

When John was in 3rd grade, he was the tallest boy in his class. So, naturally, he started playing basketball.

By 7th grade he was of average height, but he’d already fallen in love with it, so he kept at it. His mental toughness and ability to out-think opponents helped him overcome his height disadvantages.

By 10th grade, he was the shortest player on the Varsity team. On any Varsity team. Ever. People gave him a lot of shit, but he just internalized it all, worked harder, and turned his frustrations into desire to prove a point. He quickly become #1 in assists for the league, and could hit a 3-pointer with over 68% accuracy. 

When John made a D1 college team in America it made headlines for weeks.

By Junior year of college, John’s height stopped being a point of real interest -beyond frustrated coaches on opposing teams throwing their hands up in the air over the 5'6’’ point guard who outscored his entire bench.

When he entered the NBA as a second round draft pick at the age of 22 he thought the days of people tormenting him for the person he was were behind him.

Then he met their 6 foot, ocean-eyed, curly haired, distinctly male, athletic trainer.

Fuck.


	2. First Encounter

Within John’s first few days on the New York Knicks it is apparent that he is genuinely liked. He’s got a friendly, easy going attitude that the others are drawn toward, and a determination to do well that the others respect.

He’s taken under the wing of team captain and small forward, Carmello Anthony who always has time to explain not just how the plays are run, but why they’re run that way, and how they got implemented in the rotation. And John is always willing to learn. He asks a lot of questions. He’s always reading and researching the latest philosophies of the sport. Always running and lifting on his own. Always practicing after practice. After only two months on the team, he already knows almost everyone who works in the practice facility, and they all love him.

They take the mick out of him for his height, sure, but whenever he throws back that he’s got a higher scoring average per inch of height they shut up. They start making fun of him for his accent instead. because he's never heard THAT before “Must get you allllll the girls” Arron says one day while they're cooling down after an intimidating set of suicides. John laughs. “yeah” he says. _and guys,_ he thinks but decides not to drop that bomb in the middle of an afternoon cool down jog.

There’s only one employee that John hasn’t wooed over in his first couple of months on the team, and that’s the Team’s Head Athletic Trainer - Sherlock. John supposes he should consider himself lucky that he hasn't had an injury that caused him to spend an undo amount of time in the training room, but the team spends so much time together, he can't help but find it a bit off that two months in, with two-a-day practices in the off-season, he hasn't had even one conversation with the mysterious man.

As the weeks drag on, the man remains aloof; a complete mystery - one that's gotten to John. The others don’t talk about him much, but when they do it’s either with a bit of disdain or clear disinterest. It’s no secret that he’s absolutely brilliant in his chosen profession, but his people skills clearly leave something to be desired.

It’s a random Saturday morning when John meets Sherlock officially, almost 4 months after John first joined the Knicks. He’s staying after practice to work on his foul shots when he notices the man is sprawled over the bleachers watching him. John realizes for the first time that the poor guy can’t leave until he does and mentally kicks himself. He wonders why he’s never complained about John’s extended practice times before. He finishes up and heads over to Sherlock to introduce himself and apologize.

“Hello. I’m -”

“John Watson. Infamous 6th man for the New York Knicks. 2nd round draft pick for the 2015-2016 season. Originally from England, most likely Doncaster. Went to Marist College to study Biology with the idea of becoming a doctor if the basketball thing didn’t work out. Worked hard. Did well. Did even better with the sport thing. You’ve got a brother recovering from alcoholism, a father you don’t talk to, and a mother who still can’t believe you moved to America even though it’s been five years. Don’t feel guilty about it John, you had to. England’s not notoriously known for basketball, and netball just isn’t the same.”

John knew his mouth was hanging open, but there was nothing he could do about it. “That was...”

“creepy. Annoying. Instrusive”

“...amazing.”

Sherlock barely suppressed a smile, clearly loving the compliment. “That’s not what people normally say.”

“Yeah, I gathered, but seriously Sherlock, that was amazing.”

“so you’ve already said.”

“sorry”

“you can keep saying it”

“oh, uh…” John has no idea how he is supposed to respond that.Thankfully, at that moment Sherlock decides he is done with human interaction for the day, standing up swiftly, and fixing his shirt cuffs. “well if you’re done chucking the ball around, I’ll be on my way”

“I wasn’t chucking the ball”, John protests, but Sherlock is already half way into his room under the bleachers.

_Well, that was odd._ John thinks. _And a bit rude. And a bit fascinating… Oh, who am I kidding, it was a LOT rude. And a LOT fascinating._ He could only hope that Sherlock would grace him with another encounter and that he wouldn’t have to wait 4 months for the next one.


	3. I wasn't aware we were friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry all these chapters are so short. I'll try and write more next time,

As luck had it, he only had to wait two days before their next run in. John sees Sherlock come out from under the bleachers as he’s setting up the machine to pass the basketballs to him so he can shoot faster than if he had to rely on his own rebounding. Not wanting to keep Sherlock if he had someplace to be he asks, “Do you need to leave? Do you not want me to practice late today?” as he lines up a shot from his favorite spot beyond the 3-point line.

“If I had a problem with you practicing I would tell you”, is the answer he receives and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Sherlock proceeds to sprawl atop the bleachers without a care in the world. He’s got a copy of Gray’s Anatomy propped up on his chest as though it’s simple pleasure reading, and his eyes dart across the page faster than should be possible as he absently makes notes to the diagram he’s working on. John notices his eyes scrunching in concentration and finds it absurdly endearing. He shakes his head and makes himself focus on basketball.

45 minutes later John wraps up and walks over to where Sherlock is uncomfortably hunched between two rows of bleachers. Sherlock is much more actively engaged in whatever project he’s working on than he was when John started, and he’s scrawling away like mad, continually referencing various passages in Gray’s Anatomy as well as whatever resources he’s pulled up on his phone. John watches him work for 10 minutes before realizing Sherlock is never going to look up and initiate conversation. He clears his throat. When there’s no reaction from the dark-haired man, he clears his throat again, “Sherlock?”. Nothing. “Sherlock!”

This time there’s an uninterested grunt.

John pushes on anyway, “What’re you working on?”

“I’m busy John”

“I see that. And I am just curious as to what’s got your attention so focused”

There’s a long exasperated sigh, but Sherlock does, eventually, grace John with eye contact. After a moment in which John seems to pass a test he didn’t know he was taking, Sherlock responds, “I’m publishing a study on the optimal criteria and sampling interval to detect a V̇O2 plateau at V̇O2 max in patients with metabolic syndrome”. 

John takes a moment to process that, and nods, “brilliant.” a pause, "Well, could I convince you to take a break from writing and join me for a drink?”

“You want me to stop researching for a drink ?” Sherlock intones. “I don’t do that,” he adds without waiting for a response. 

“Too good for a beer with a friend?” John tries to joke.

“I didn’t say that”

“You were thinking it” 

“I wasn’t aware we were friends,” Sherlock rejoins without a hint of joking in his tone.

John flinches. The man’s words are like a slap across the face. So that’s how it was going to be then, right. “Fine… Fine.” He can’t figure out why the rejection hurt so much. He sucks the hurt inside and pushes out irritation in its place, “I was just trying to be polite,” he snaps. “Won’t make that mistake again. Good night.” And with that, he turns and hastily exits the practice facility.

Sherlock, unable to process why the interaction has left him feeling hollow, stares after Point Guard John Watson for a long time after he’s left the gym.


	4. No Hard Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact 1: If John Watson was actually in the NBA he would tie for 3rd shortest player of all time. The honor of shortest goes to Muggsy Bogues who was 5'3''.
> 
> Fun Fact 2: NBA AllStar Kareem Abdul Jabaar published a novel called Mycroft Holmes after retiring from the sport. 
> 
> "There is one quality which one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it."  
> Napoleon Hill

The next day, Sherlock hands John a orange Gatorade before practice. John is surprised to see him and quirks an eyebrow in question. “I thought this is what friends did?” is Sherlock’s explanation.

John just laughs. “ I guess it is”. Sherlock is just standing there and John is unsure what he should do or say next. “This is really thoughtful,” he adds, looking down at the bottle and twisting it in his grip.

“but…?” Sherlock surmises there’s more John’s not saying

“but I prefer blue”. John cracks a glorious smile.

Sherlock smiles in return.. “Blue. Noted… For next time”

“For next time… thanks though, uh, I, uh, gotta go, practice is...”

“Practice starts in precisely 9 minutes and 43 seconds, and you don’t yet have your knee brace or shoes on. I am aware. And John, do think before you speak. Eloquence is power. ” And with that he turns away and disappears into the darkness under the bleachers.

……

John doesn’t see Sherlock after practice even though he stays longer than usual with his own skill work, so he goes to seek him out. He’s been to the athletic training room numerous times before – ice for a knee here, a taped wrist there, a pulled hamstring on one memorable occasion, but he’s never, knock on wood, had to spend a significant amount of time within its walls. The room is easy enough to find. Even if you didn’t know where it was all you would have to do is follow the hallway of fluorescent lighting towards the sound of violin music.

The only thing Sherlock played was classical concertos. Bach. Palella. Werner. Handel. Valentini. Depending on his mood, the music would change rhythm and tempo, but it was always instrumental, always violin, always from the early classical period. It drove most of the players mad - they’d been trying to convince him to change it up every once in a while for ages - but John didn’t mind it. He mostly just ignored it honestly, and let it fade into the background, but now that he was thinking about it, it was kind of relaxing. And it was a harmless yet interesting quirk to this man that he knew so little about.

He paused at the door, seeing that Sherlock was working with Arron and not wanting to interrupt. An intern came over to see if he needed anything, but John declined. 10-15 minutes after he arrived, the two were done, and Sherlock invited him in, Arron giving him a pat on the back and a “join us at Mahoney’s for a drink when you’re done. Galloway’s got himself a girlfriend and we’re celebrating”, as they passed in the doorway.

Sherlock has posters of various muscle groups covering every inch of the far wall, and John, unsure what to say now that they're alone together again, wanders over to inspect them closer. “Why are these in, what is this? German?”, he asks looking at them closely for the first time.

“Hungarian John”

“Okay…Well why are they in Hungarian?”

“Because I bought them in Hungary.”

John sighs. He'd only had 3 conversation with Sherlock, but he could already tell that talking to the younger man was a bit like talking to a robot that only computed words at face value. He tried again, “Okay but why Hungarian. Why not get English ones?”

Sherlock just scoffed. “These ones were more accurate. The most accurate.”

“More accurate? Doesn’t matter much if you can’t read them though.” John’s response just causes Sherlock to stare at him. “You can read Hungarian?” “Course you can. Why am I even asking?” John shakes his head. “Well, I’m sure you heard Arron. The team’s heading to Mahoney’s for a drink and a bit to eat. Care to join us?”

“Not really my area”

“What? Fun? Drinking? Friends?” John jokes.

“yes” Sherlock responds, no longer making eye contact.

John feels a bit guilty about that. “Come on” he wheedles, “It’ll be fun”

But it's too late. Sherlock's walls are up, “while I’m sure a wonderful time will be had by all, I am not personally interested in making merry with 17 individuals who are not particularly fond of me nor am I one to drown my aches and sorrows in ale and look for a quote un quote “good time” courtesy of liquid courage.”

“We’re not…”

“Nor do I care to celebrate Galloway’s latest conquest with womankind”

“Fine, suit yourself. But if you made an effort to take interest in some of their lives, they’d probably like you a hell of a lot better”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if I’m ever of the notion to win over their appreciation.”

……..

John meets Arron, Galloway, and the rest of the team for celebratory drinks not long later. They’ve got a whole section of the bar to themselves, and it’s overflowing with nachos, gravy fries, and wings. And there’s a pitcher of beer on every table. The night progresses with stories of past players, nights that lived in infamy, past and current girlfriends, rumors around the league, what the expectations are for the game on Friday, who’s got plans for the holidays, and why exactly everyone dislikes Sherlock.

It wasn’t a conversation John was expecting to be caught in the middle of, but also one he isn’t quite sure how to get out of now that it's in full swing. It started out harmless enough when Arron said, “Spent 40 minutes in the room today. If I had to listen to one more song off Vh1’s I love the 1490s I would have said fuck it, I’m just gonna stay injured”. That got a laugh out of the table. But apparently Sherlock’s music choices weren’t their only complaints. According to the line up of the New York Knicks, Sherlock Holmes, Athletic Trainer extraordinaire, had quite the list of faults and hangups: He doesn’t know his place. He’s got his nose in everyone’s business. Shares everything. Gossip queen. Rude as hell. Tries to tell Fisher what he’s doing wrong. Condescending. Glares at people like they’ve personally affronted him when all they’ve done is gone in and ask for ice. Impossibly young for his position. Pretentious. Probably queer.

John’s stomach had been tying itself in knots throughout the conversation, but that last one brings him up short. _Should he defend the man? And if he, does, what does he say exactly?_ Now that John thinks about it he realizes he doesn’t even know if it’s true. He could see it now that he’s thinking about it… And he really should stop thinking about it if he’s going to continue sitting here with the guys… He might not know what to say to that, but he’s not going to sit here and listen to it. He gets up and leaves..

He makes it 2 steps out the door before a shout draws him up short, “Watson!”

He hesitates, not really wanting to get into it with someone just now.

The voice, which apparently belongs to Arron, presses on ,“I just... I saw you back there, when Calderon brought up the gay thing… I know your sister’s gay, and I just want you to know that we’re not homophobic. Well, most of us aren’t at least. People just say stupid shit when they’re drunk, you know? So, no hard feelings, right?”

John is tired all of a sudden, and Arron is a good man, a good friend, so John just nods, dismissing him from his guilt, “it’s cool Arron. No worries.”

“Right. Thanks. You have a good night. Get home safe. See you tomorrow morning.”

“You too. Night” and with that John walks off, thankful for some fresh air and time to think before he gets back to his place.

***************

That night John has a hard time falling asleep. His teammates, while not outwardly hating of the LGBT community, were clearly not as okay with it as they thought they were. Not surprising for a professional sports team, but an uncomfortable pill to swallow none the less.

And now that the team had mentioned that Sherlock might be gay, in mocking or no, John couldn’t get the idea out of his head. The man was gorgeous yeah, but also had no social graces and could be a dick. And he was pretentious and condescending. John hadn’t exactly had a successful conversation with him yet.

When John rolled into practice the next morning after spending the entire night up thinking far too much, John had decided. _Sherlock was the worst._ How could one pompous, self-entitled brat take up so much brain space? And now, the lack of sleep was going to affect his ability to focus.

What right did Sherlock have to make John lose 7 hours of much needed sleep? What right did this man have to sprawl there in the middle of the court taking up space like this wasn’t valuable practice time? Why was he spending time on the court all of a sudden anyway? What right did he have to go off on the coach’s plan like he had ANY training whatsoever in creating plays and game strategy ( Coach Fisher had been doing this for 19 years, and this posh nitwit with his nose in the air thought he could just rewrite his plays? No wonder Fisher looked like he was about to lose his mind. Sherlock wasn’t even on the coaching staff!) What right did Sherlock have to watch him with those piercing blue-gray-green eyes when John was practicing foul shots or threes? (John made a mental note to figure out what color his eyes were later.) And what right did he have to come in here all god-like with those indescribable eyes, and high cheek bones, and curly raven hair that would be fantastic to run fingers through, and oh god, John was in deep deep shit.

Fuck.


	5. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John asks Sherlock out on a 1st date. It's a bit awkward.... But then, better.

Now that John has come to the undeniable conclusion that he’s attracted to Sherlock, he wants to waste no time in finding out if he stands a chance of getting a date with the gorgeous athletic trainer. So, after practice, he runs through a few dribbling drills as is his usual while he waits for the other players who need Sherlock’s time and attention to finish up and head out for the day. When they do, he runs a few more drills because he can and he’s nervous and he’s stalling.

After sinking a particularly complicated three that he mentally promises to call “his lucky shot” if the next conversation goes the way he hopes it does, he wipes off his face and hands, takes a deep breath, and sets off to find the object of his mission. When he does, he finds him bent awkwardly on top of one of the tables as he attempts to examine the back of his own knee and compare it to whatever diagram he’s got pulled up on his cell. 

“Can I interrupt?,” John asks, quietly making his way over to the table.

“Oh! John! I was hoping you would stop by. There’s a new technique that’s supposed to replicate electrical stim for knee osteoarthritis. Are you free Saturday? I’d really like to try it on someone.”

“Actually I was hoping you’d agree to go on a date with me on Saturday”

“A what?”

“A date. It’s where two people who like each other get together and have fun.”

“That’s what I was suggesting”

“No it wa--- oh? Really? You wanted to poke and prod my knee for an hour as a date?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Not good?” 

John can’t help but laugh at the concerned expression on Sherlock’s face, “How about coffee instead?” he suggests.

Sherlock’s brow wrinkles in confusion, “Coffee? You want to get coffee?”

“Yes. With you.”

“…” It seemed Sherlock was having trouble processing this.

“It’s coffee Sherlock. I know you drink it.”

“Of course I drink it. Caffeine is essential in this profession. Have you _seen_ the hours of a professional basketball team? That was a rhetorical question. Of course you have. I shudder to think how one could survive without it.”

“Is that a yes then? To coffee. With me?”

Sherlock nods. 

“Good. There’s no practice Saturday. Would 2pm work?”

“Yes."

“Great. And as I seem to have reduced you to single syllable responses, give me your phone so I can add my number, and you can put yours in mine, and I’ll text you the address and directions once I’ve chosen a place.”

Sherlock pulls his phone out of his pocket, but doesn’t hand it John to enter his number. John quirks an eyebrow in question, but Sherlock ignores him, intent on pulling something up. A few seconds later John’s phone rings. “Is that you? ", he asks looking at the caller ID, "What? How? Who gave you my number?”, he splutters, confused and slightly amazed. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “You did. Technically. The day you were drafted. The entire team’s contact information is uploaded to a common drive. Including your and your emergency contact’s cell number. I could also contact your brother if I really wanted.”

“You know, you said brother once before and I didn’t correct you. I don’t have a brother.”

“Harry isn’t…”

“Harry is short for Harriet”

“oh, well, there’s always something”

…

Their first date, starts, as John insisted, in a coffee shop. Once both men have selected, ordered, and received their coffee, the date is off to an awkward start. Both so used to adrenaline and stimulation, both intellectual and physical, it turns out that chatting quietly over a cup of coffee is not really their ideal first date. After exhausting polite conversation topics about what their families do (John’s mum is a nurse, Harry’s a teacher, Sherlock’s dad and brother both work for the British Consulate in Washington DC), childhood pets (John had an escape artist hamster named Marshmallow and Sherlock a beloved dog named Redbeard), and yes, even the weather (it’s unseasonably warm this week, isn’t it?), they fall into a semi-awkward silence. After a few beats, Sherlock cautiously asks, “Would you want to do something less traditional for our first date? Something, more… exciting?”

“God yes”, John breathes out, relieved that there may still be a chance to salvage this date. 

Sherlock pulls out his phone, types for a second and hands it over to John. “The Mutter Museum. Explore our Civil War Amputation Kit”, John reads off the page.

Sherlock nods, “and they’ve got an exhibit on spinal surgeries and bits of Albert Einstein’s brain on glass slides.”

John doesn't think they can leave the coffee shop fast enough.

In the end, they spend hours walking down the halls of the Mutter Museum, staying until closing and checking out every exhibit from the Medicinal Plant Garden to A Layered History of Skin. John can't help but find everything fascinating, if not a little morbid, and seeing Sherlock’s eyes light up as he takes in new information is definitely something he could get used to. And if Sherlock mentions that the skull on his mantle is most similar to skull #89 in the Human Skull collection, John isn’t going to admit how much he hopes to have the chance to meet her.

When Sherlock drops John off at home after a stop for Chinese on the way, John hopes he’s not being too forward when he leans up for a kiss. It’s just a soft press of lips at first, a thank you for the wonderful day, but as John pulls away, Sherlock pulls him back in and deepens the kiss, their tongues entwining, tasting each other. John runs a hand through Sherlock’s hair, twisting the curls into his fingers. The kiss lasts a minute or two before John steps away smiling. Sherlock steps back a second later, pulse pounding, eyes shining.

“Thank you for today Sherlock. I enjoyed it. I hope you did as well.”

“Obvious”

“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, yeah?”

Sherlock nods in response, “night John”

“Good night Sherlock. Get home safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mutter Museum is a real place. It's in Philly (which they could technically drive to I suppose, but for the purpose of this story i'm pretending it's in NJ cause I can). But anyway, the museum looks fantastic. I've never been, but I just spend a long time on their website, and I really want to go.


	6. A Series of Dates

Their second date was to a pumpkin patch, this was, again, John’s idea, “we’re in America Sherlock, we’re going”, and this one went much better than his coffee idea. They amused themselves endlessly (“Find the ugliest squash! Go!”, “Let’s take a selfie with a llama!”, “No you cannot fight the turkeys John. They will win.”).

Their third date consisted of hot cocoa in front of the fireplace. John was pleased to meet the skull on the mantle. Sherlock may have thought it absurd to name her, but John was secretly calling her Yolinda.

On the 4th, John was welcomed at the door while Sherlock was ignoring the end of a Skype conversation with Mycroft. He planned to be nice, but when he overheard his brother be disparaging about Sherlock’s choice of living arrangement, John walks over and hangs up on him. That earns John a few kisses.

On their 5th date, they go to the Liberty Science Center. Some people look at them strangely for not having children with them, but they love light sabers and robots just as much as the next 10 year old thank you very much, and if John can impress Sherlock with his ability to solve any Rubik’s cube in under 30 seconds, then John’s calling this date a success. However, the defining moment of the day is actually when John loses Sherlock for 30 minutes. Not because he lost him, but because when he find him, he’s apparently been sitting on the floor of the Honey Bee exhibit the entire time getting a close up view of the hive. John can’t resist running his fingers through his hair before pulling him up for a discreet kiss. 

Neither of them quite remember the 6th date, but they know top shelf scotch was involved.

For their 7th date, John had every intention of actually watching the original Star Wars films together (since when they’d seen the exhibit at the Liberty Science Center, Sherlock admitted to never seeing them), but when Sherlock rolls over 2 minutes after the opening credits and slips his tongue in his mouth, that plan is very quickly derailed. That date is most definitely memorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't this story about basketball? I need to write in more basketball...
> 
> Also, The Liberty Science Center is real too. They're awesome. And yes, they really do have an exhibit for honey bees. It's really cool.


	7. Go Tell Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a conversation with Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I do find the sibling connection endlessly fascinating, as I do all family dynamics. I like how siblings seem to create their own parentless mini-civilization within a family, one that has its own laws, myths, language, humor, its own loyalties and treacheries." - Jandy Nelson
> 
> "Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago - the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider.... It doesn't seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we've traveled." — Jane Mersky Leder

After weeks of putting it off, John decides to bite the bullet and call his sister back. She has left 13 messages over the last 2 weeks, and it is the holiday season. But he’s not looking forward to her disappointment in the fact that he won’t be flying home for Christmas. Not something he can pull off with games on the 24th and the 25th. Some families’ tradition of watching basketball on the couch with a plateful of ham and turkey is royally messing with his family tradition of, well, not being in America for starters.

So John ducks out right after practice in order to catch her at a reasonable hour. Stopping only for a few minutes to check in with Sherlock and let him know his plans and that he’d be stopping by in a few hours with takeaway. 

He gets home, toes his shoes off, and makes himself comfy before dialing the familiar number. Harry greats him with a yell, and after he’s suffered through a conversation of how terrible a brother he is for not calling back sooner, and how terrible a son he is for not coming home to visit mum for Christmas, and how terrible a basketball player he must be if he’s still not starting, (aren’t sibling wonderful), Harry brings up a topic he’s not yet had a chance to talk about with anyone.

“How’s the love life?”

“Really Harry? Let's see. So far, I’m a terrible brother. A terrible son. A terrible basketball player. And now you want to know if I’m also someone’s terrible boyfriend?”

“Inquiring minds want to know brother dear.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know, my love life is good”

“We got coffee one time good? Or we’re fucking like rabbits good?”

“Harry!”

“What?” Harry asks innocently, like talking about your siblings sex-life is an every day occurrence.

"Nothing. Nothing. More like, We’ve been on a few dates and we’re looking at getting a weekend away at a cabin in Vermont during the week-long break after the all-star game in February.”

“Yeah? Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Good for you. What’s her name?”

“His name is Sherlock.”

“Oh, a boy this time then?”

John rolls his eyes even though he knows she can't see him, "James was a boy too, Harry”

“Yes, I know John, but there was also Sarah, Mary, Kiara, Lexi, Emma, Tatiana, Ava, Janice…"

“Alright I get it. I get it. But Sherlock’s a bloke, and he’s brilliant. You’d love him.”

“Where’d you meet him?”

“He’s the athletic trainer for the team”

“John!", Harry scolds, “Is that even allowed??”

“I didn’t plan to fall for someone I have to work with regularly. It just sort of happened. And it’s nice to have someone who’s a part of that world. He gets the hours and madness. And he’s there. He knows the other guys, doesn’t think much of them to be honest, but he knows them by name and by face. He travels with the team to the games. Learns the weakness and strategies of all the other players and coaches before the end of the 1st quarter. It’s amazing to hear him do it”

“You sound smitten. I’m happy for you john. Really. I am. But couldn’t you have fallen for, idk, someone that’s NOT a bloke and working for the same team as you?” 

“Doesn’t work that way Harry”

“No, I know. God, I know, but you didn’t make this easy for yourself.”

“No, but the guys are cool. They’ll understand.”

“WHAT?!? You’re telling them??? You can’t do that. Don’t do that Johnny. You’ll regret it”

“I don’t want to hide our relationship! and it’s not like they’ve proven to be homophobic or anything. Well. Most of them anyway”  
“But that’s my point John. It only takes one. One to start throwing insults around and then everyone’s doing it because they don’t want to be the “gay lover”. One to say he’s uncomfortable with you in the locker room. And then it’s complaints to the coach. And complaints to the owner. And before you know it, the entire upper echelon on the NBA knows you got the hots for guys, and no one wants you on their team any more. Too many questions. Too much press. Too many bigoted players who won’t play with a queer. You’re good Johnny, but you’re not irreplaceable. Don’t make yourself more hassle than you’re worth”

“So that’s your great advice?! Just HIDE who I am? And that I’ve finally met someone I love? And that I’m happy? Walk around for the rest of my life just lying to my teammates and coaches? And everyone else?”

“Do you, really?”

“Do I really what?”

“Love him”

...

…

“Yeah. Yeah I guess I do.”

“Have you told him?”

“Not yet. But I guess I should. Not proper that you know before he does.”

“Go tell him. But John?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not yet. Give yourselves some more time to enjoy the relationship before you upend both your lives and take on the media shitstorm.”

John sighs in exasperation, “Yeah, alright Harry. I’ll take your advice. For now. But I’m not hiding this forever. I love him. And I want the world to know it, whether they’re ready to hear it or not.”

Harry giggles.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“What?”

“Just you being all indignant. You used to get so bent out of shape about people saying you couldn’t do things cause you were too short, or too poor, or too broad, or too this, or too that. And now you’ve got something real to take on. It’s just so you. And just so you know, when you’re ready, I’ll be right behind you… or as right behind you as I can be from 6 time zones and 32400 miles away.”

“Thanks Harry. I appreciate it, really I do, but I gotta go. Tell mum I said hi.”

“Will do. Night John. Call back sooner next time!”

“I’ll try Harry. Night.”

John puts the phone down with a click and runs his hands across his face. Harry’s right. He needs to think through coming out and have a plan, and a backup plan. He needs to feel out who will be on his side. He needs to find media journalists who’ll tell his story fairly. He needs to accept the possibility of being called slurs, of endless coaches meetings, of paparazzi, of even, possibly losing his career. He sighs. But first he needs to tell Sherlock that he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might end up being more chapters than I anticipated ... but only by 1 or 2


	8. When You Find Somebody You Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." - When Harry Met Sally

John shows up at Sherlock’s door with takeaway, a bottle of wine, and a copy of May’s edition of the Huffington Post. When Sherlock lets him into the apartment he raises an eyebrow in question at the periodical, but John just shakes his head, “later” he says, and Sherlock acquiesces. The two enjoy chicken and garlic sauce, shrimp chow fun, and string beans as Sherlock animatedly shares his latest findings on concussions. John listens in rapt attention, and now that he’s thought “I love him” once, he can’t stop thinking it. 

As the evening progresses, they find themselves sitting on the couch, wrapped around each other, the discussion winding down. Sherlock reaches over and grabs the newsprint John brought with him and hands it to him, waiting for an explanation. John grabs it, “I’m impressed you waited this long. The curiosity must have been killing you.” 

Sherlock just shrugs, “you didn’t want to talk about it, so I was waiting. But you still don’t want to talk about it and I’m done waiting. You brought it over here, so clearly there’s something of importance in there. John nods, leans away from Sherlock, routes through until he finds the article and hands it back to Sherlock. It’s titled, “the Need for an Out Gay Pro Athlete”. Sherlock’s face darkens a bit, but he doesn’t say anything. He pulls it closer to his face and reads it from start to finish without any questions. When he’s completed reading, he put the article down and makes eye contact with John, “you want to come out publically.” It’s not a question, but John nods anyway, “if you’re not opposed.”

“Why?”

John thinks before giving an answer, “Because it’s important. Because people need to see that athletes can be gay. Because pro-sports have a history of latent homophobia, and it needs to stop?”

“Okay. That’s a wonderful scripted answer that would make perfect sense if this was a decision based solely in reason. As it's not, what’s the rest of your reason for wanting this?”

John tries again, “I don’t want to hide any more. I’ve been playing this game since I was 8 and hardly any of my teammates have ever known I’m bi, and they’ve never met any of my previously boyfriends – all my previous girlfriends, yeah, but the boyfriends always had to be kept a secret. I’m tired of it.”

Sherlock nods, thinking, “Okay. Why now? Why me?”

“Do you not want me to Sherlock, is that why you’re asking so many questions?”

“No, quite the contrary. I’ve always found hiding who I am to be dull. However, I am curious as to the sudden necessity on your part.”

John grabs Sherlock’s hand and looks him in the eye; it's time to be honest, “because when you fall in love with someone, you want everyone to know it.”

Sherlock gasps, “you…?”

“Yes Sherlock. And I’d just like to…"

Sherlock interrupts, “Say it again,” 

John smiles, scootches closer, takes Sherlock’s face gently in his hands and whispers, “I love you, you mad brilliant man,” and he kisses him, long and warm and full of love. When he pulls away, Sherlock looks stunned for a moment. He has to shake his head to regain his bearing, and when he does, he plants a kiss on John’s forehead, “I love you too.”

John breaks out into a glorious grin, and for a moment, they’re each lost in in their private thoughts. Then Sherlock grabs John and turns him around so the basketball player is nestled between his legs, and Sherlock can rest his chin on his head. He’s still got a small sweet smile on his face, and he wants to bury it in John’s hair. 

A minute passes it, “You want to come out so we can do that in public, then?”, Sherlock asks.

“Well, not so much _that_ , no, but kissing yes. Hand holding, yes. I want them all to know I’ve won you, and you're mine."

“Agreed." But then Sherlock pauses in his approval, "But can we put it off a bit? I like this, us, just us, away from the rest of the world, secretly wrapped up in only each other.”

John sighs, “only for a little while?” he asks.

“Of course John. I couldn’t hide you forever. My entire family has known for weeks, and now Harry knows. It’s only a matter of time before we give it away to the rest of the world, dull as they are, and I think it’d be much better to come out on our own terms.”

“Okay. Good", Then John thinks of something they may have overlooked and his stomach drops, "Um, I haven’t really looked into it – is this even allowed? I mean, can you get in trouble with your job for dating me?”

John can feel Sherlock shaking his head before he hears him answer, “No. The National Basketball Association is notoriously both sexist and homophobic. There is nothing in my contract about dating other staff and players because there are only three women employed in the entire league, and they never imagined the rest of us would ever be interested in pursuing a relationship with each other.”

John snorts, “Their mistake then”

“Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where this chapter came from. Other than the line about Sherlock not getting in trouble with his job, this wasn't even part of the outline. So... might be a chapter or 2 longer than I said it would be?


	9. Hate Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That violence and homophobia I mentioned in the tags? It's in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this chapter took so long to write, it just wasn't working for me. I'm still not happy with it, but I just needed to be done with it.

Two days later Sherlock isn’t at practice when John arrives despite the fact that he’s supposed to be there first. John leaves the tea he picked up for Sherlock on the way on the counter, and sends off a text asking him where he is, trying not to worry about it too much.

Twenty minutes into practice and Sherlock still hasn’t shown up, and John’s having trouble focusing. After 3 turnovers, Coach Fisher tells him to get his head in the game or get off the court. After 5 turnovers, he makes an excuse about a headache, escapes to the bathroom and calls Sherlock. No answer. He tries again. Still no answer. After ten wasted minutes and almost as many phone calls, John is equal parts annoyed and scared – _Where is Sherlock? Why isn’t he answering? Is he okay?_ The thoughts swirl endlessly around in his head as he makes his way back onto the court to finish up practice, or at least put in a valiant effort, but his thoughts are not on the drills.

Fisher and the team have clearly written him off as a lost cause for the day because other than shooting him worried looks, the guys are doing their best to play around him rather than with him. John is thankful for that. The second practice ends, John is out the door, Carmello’s hesitant question and Arron’s worried shout follow him, and don’t get a response. He runs all the way to Sherlock’s flat, and knocks.

“Sherlock?! Are you in there,” John yells between pounds on the door. When there’s no response he threatens to break the door down, "If you’re in there, I swear to God Sherlock, this isn’t funny, let me in!”

Finally there’s a quiet response, “Go away, John.”

“What?!? No! What’s wrong? Why weren’t you at practice? Are you alright??!?”, a pause, “Let me in, please.”

For a minute that seems to stretch on for eternity, there is no response from the curly-haired man, but just as John is about to resume pounding and demanding he be let in, he hears a sigh and then the sound of the door being unlocked. John waits a moment to see if Sherlock will open the door for him, but when there’s no further movement, he pushes his way in.

His eyes immediately go to Sherlock’s, or they would, if Sherlock’s eyes were open. Instead, John is looking at a swollen and bruised face with one black eye, and one eye closed in embarrassment or defeat. John let’s out a hiss, “What the HELL Sherlock? What happened? What did you do? Who Did this?!” he yells taking a step toward his partner. Sherlock flinches, and John takes a deep breath, “Sorry, sorry, I, I’m not mad at you. I just, I, please, sit down so I can take a look at you.” Sherlock looks like he’s going to argue, so john says “please” again, and the injured man nods once and quietly makes his way over to the couch.  
John crouches in front of him, “what can I do,” he breathes out as his fingers ghost over Sherlock’s face looking for signs of fractures. “Nothing,” insists Sherlock, “I’m fine”.

“FINE?!?” John almost explodes before catching himself, “Jesus Sherlock, you are _not_ fine.” He drops his hands from Sherlock’s face, “Where else are you hurt?”

“Face is the worst of it. Few defensive wounds on my hands" turning his hands over for inspection as he speaks, "a few bruised ribs. Nothing’s broken. Nothing that a bit of ice and a bit of time won’t heal. Really John, I’m –“

“If you say Fine one more time, so help me.”

Sherlock shrugs.

“Okay. Okay,” John says, getting up to get ice and returning a moment later. He stares down at Sherlock deciding whether or not to take the man at his word or to press further, insist on going to a doctor.

“I know you don’t want to hear it John, but I really am ... alright”, Sherlock says looking up.

John smirks at the synonym for fine. “Okay" " _fine_ ”, he jokes. “I trust you. Keep the ice on your eye, and this other bit on your ribs, on and off - you know how it works, and we’ll see what it looks like in an hour. If it’s not any worse, I’ll leave you alone about seeking medical treatment.” 

Sherlock nods his gratitude. After a moment of silence, Sherlock states, “You want to know what happened." 

Even thought it's not a question, John answers,“Of course I do Sherlock! You come home looking like you went 4 rounds with a block of cement, I need to know why. Who did this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!? _You?_ You don’t know?”

Sherlock sighs again, it was becoming an overwhelming consistency in this conversation, and glares at John, or tries to anyway - It’s not as effective with only one eye, and an ice-pack over half of your face. “I don’t know” he repeats, “I was walking to work. Was a nice day and I didn’t want to drive. I was walking past the deli on Raymond when all of a sudden I heard someone shout ‘hey! Queer! Where you going?’ I ignored them, but apparently they had friends and before I knew it I was surrounded by three idiots who had nothing better to do with their morning than to dole out their own personal brand of homophobia.”

“This was a hate crime”

“By definition yes, it would seem so, but not against me specifically. They didn’t know who I was. Could have been anyone.”

“But they knew you were gay?”

Sherlock moved his hand in a non-committal answer. “They guessed. Or assumed. Or were just being insultingly uncreative. Who knows. It doesn’t matter.”

“It DOES matter! It’s 2016 Sherlock, this kind of thing shouldn’t be happening anymore.”

Sherlock just shrugs, “Well it is”

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“You. ‘Well it is.’ How can you be so nonchalant about this? Someone just beat you up for being human. For existing. For loving someone and daring to go about your day.”

“The world is full of idiots John, you would do best not to concern yourself with them.”

John takes a deep breath, wipes a hand down his face, takes a step back, and let’s the breath out, “You know, I’m not trying to argue with you Sherlock but you’re making it very difficult at the moment.”

“I’m sorry I am not reacting to this incident in a manner you deem appropriate John”, Sherlock scathingly replies.

“Not reacting in a manner I deem appropriate?!” John splutters, “You’re being purposely obtuse. And you know it.”

“I –“

“No, No. You are. And you're entitled to be in a bad mood. You are. Just, I don't know, just..." John looks about the room as if hoping to find an answer, "Just sit back," he concludes lamely. "Keep that ice on your face. I’m making tea, and then we’re going to listen to music – the Beatles – and you’re not going to argue, you’re just going to sit there and let me take care of you for a bit and let me be angry for both of us.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Sherlock says making himself comfortable in his usual sprawling manner.

“Good,” John nods before turning and making his way into the kitchen. There, out of Sherlock's line of sight, he takes a minute to compose himself, fingers curled tightly around the counter top as he takes deep breaths to regain his composure. This is what Harry had warned him about, what Sherlock had warned him about in his own way, and this, _this_ is exactly why John felt a burning desire to come out publicly in an explosion of gay pride – if people knew their athletic heroes were gay, then they would either have to be disappointed or accept it, but they sure as hell wouldn’t be able to ignore it.


	10. All Star Game

An hour or so later, after they’ve both had time to process their thoughts, John brings it up again, “Are you going to report it to the police?”

“I already did”

John nods, that wasn’t the response he was expecting, so it throws him off his line of questioning, “that’s good," he settles on, "They should learn that they can’t get away with that sort of thing.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond and the room settles into silence once more.

“I think we should come out pub –“ John starts at the same time Sherlock says, “I think we should break up.”

“What!?” John stands up coming over in front of Sherlock, “You don’t mean that.”

“It’s logical John. They’ll only hate you too if they know you’re queer like I am.”

“Right well, that’s bollocks. Relationships aren’t about logical Sherlock, they’re about love, and I love you, and I’m not giving this up because some asshats have a different opinion”

“They’ll hate you John”

“So?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean strangers on the street John, I mean everyone – the media, other players, coaches, everyone.”

“Well fuck them then”

“You don’t mean that”

“I do”, John insists.

“This is your life!” Sherlock shouts, frustrated.

“ _You’re_ my life.”

The declaration catches them both off guard, and Sherlock has to pause before continuing, “As overtly romantic and sentimental that notion is, I don’t think you’re thinking this through.”

“I’m thinking that people are dicks and I don’t care”

“John –"

“I’m thinking that I’m tired of hiding. That people need to grow up. That I refuse to sit idly by and watch this happen when I can take a stance. I’m thinking that I love you.”

Sherlock looks gobsmacked, and the tiny smile that appears on his face every time John says “I love you” has appeared without his permission to do so. John can’t help himself, he leans down and kisses him. Careful of his injuries, John climbs onto the couch with Sherlock and wraps him up, "I'm not leaving you", he murmers, and Sherlock responds immediately, wrapping his long legs betwixt John’s, snuggling his face into John’s neck, and almost purring as John runs his fingers through the younger man’s curls. They’re silent for a few minutes before John snorts.

“What?”, Sherlock asks turning his head to look up at John.

“I can’t believe you tried to break up with me.”

\----

In the end, it’s not John who outs them but Sherlock.

John’s been asked to play in the All Star Game over Valentine’s Day Weekend, and he can’t believe he’s gotten the chance to play with some of the best players in the league. As he lines up for roll call with Paul George, Lebron James, Dwayne Wade, and Kyle Lowry before the game, he can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed. Carmello Anthony taps his shoulder, “stop gaping. You look like fresh meat.”

John elbows him in the ribs. “No, seriously,” Anthony repeats, “you look like a fan boy who’s just met his heroes.”

“Well….” John jokes.

Carmello just laughs, “fair enough. But you gotta play with them, so maybe stop staring at them like they’re gods?”

“Right” John laughs, “sorry”

“No worries, have you met them all? I’ll introduce you”, and with that he turns to Kyle Lowry from the Toronto Raptors and pulls him into the conversation.

10 minutes later, John is much more relaxed, on a first name basis with most of the guys, and ready to play. 

\--

As it’s not a Knicks game, Sherlock isn’t working today, so he has a seat in the crowd, a few rows back. As the players line up for introductions John catches his eye, and shoots him a big smile and obnoxious wave. Sherlock rolls his eyes, but he smiles back, and shoots John a thumbs up. 

The first half of the game passes uninterestingly, if not high-scoring. John subs in twice for a few minutes, scores a few threes to the delight of the crowd, and at the half the game is tied up between the East and the West, 57-57. The second half of the game starts off much the same as the first, but with a bit more fanfare – the crowd wants to see spin moves, slam dunks, trick dribbling, and other showcases – that’s what the All Star Weekend is all about. When John subs back in the score is 101 – 108 West Coast, and he can feel the change in the atmosphere – it’s a lot more charged with energy. And maybe it’s that energy, and maybe it’s the thousands of fans on their seats, and maybe it’s wanting to show off a bit for Sherlock who finally has the chance to watch a game as a spectator, but John decides he wants to try a fancy spin dribble he’d been working on, and it goes perfectly, until he finds himself uncomfortably close to Kobe Bryant and falling backward as a result. In the fall, his leg twists, and he knows he’s got to stay down.

A few seconds later, the whistle blows, and as the ref and coach are walking over, and signaling for the Athletic Trainer on duty to come out, Sherlock has apparently taken it upon himself to bypass security, leap the court rail, and run out onto the court. All of a sudden John has hands on his shoulders, and a worried Sherlock in his face, “are you alright?” he asks urgently.

John wants to roll his eyes at his partner’s over-reaction, but he finds the concern endearing, “fine love”, he says quietly.

And Sherlock kisses him.

Sherlock kisses him right there, in front of all of the players, all of the coaches, thousands of fans, and thousands of cameras. And he doesn’t seem to realize he’s done it.

At this point in time a circle has gathered around them, including half the security team ready to haul Sherlock out of there, but they’ve frozen in place with Sherlock’s latest gesture, so John looks at them, waves a hand about in a 'what can you do' motion, and shrugs, “it’s alright. He’s the athletic trainer for my team, the Knicks, he’s allowed to be here”, he says as if that explains everything. Well, the guards look appeased at least, and the on-duty athletic trainer looks grateful for the extra set of hands, but the other 2,000 pairs of eyes are still locked on him, and he can only imagine what’s being broadcast on television.

The ref clears his throat, “alright, let’s get him up off the court and into the training room,” he suggests. Sherlock reaches possessively for John and in one swift move lifts him up and starts carrying him off the court. John is too surprised to say anything, and that seems to be the common reaction because everyone just lets him do it. 

It’s not until an hour later when John’s knee is iced and wrapped, the game over (West Coast having won 197 – 173), and the two of them on their way out the door, that they have a moment alone.

“I’m so sorry”, Sherlock starts, sounding embarrassed.

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

“But we were going to keep it a secret, and I ruined everything!”

“No, _you_ were going to keep it a secret. This is exactly what I wanted to happen … although I probably would have been a bit more subtle about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't know any of these players or coaches, but that was the line up for the East Coast team, and that was the final score for the NBA All Star Game 2016.


	11. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has to talk to the coaches, PR team, and front office. Sherlock has to talk to John's teammates. Who has the better deal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your comments. You're all beautiful people.  
> There's a bit from Sherlock's perspective in this chapter which is a bit odd since the whole thing has been written from John's angle up til now, but I really wanted this scene in here, and as John's not present, this seemed to be the only way that made sense.

When John rolls out of bed the morning after the All Star game, John has 27 missed calls, 9 messages, and 14 text messages on his mobile. He levels a soft look at his partner, still sleep, sprawled across more than his share of the bed, and closes the door behind him as he makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen to make tea. He’s going to need caffeine to deal with this.

Unsurprisingly, half the calls are from Harry. Ranging from “Congratulations on the coming out!” to “I can’t believe you did that on national TV!” to “Fuck you John, pick up your phone”. He deletes all of them. The majority of the remaining calls are from various news outlets and reporters – God knows how they got his private number – and he deletes all of those as well, leaving just 3 messages. One from his mother asking if he’s alright, one from Mycroft reminding him that if he needs legal assistance he has lawyers on payroll, and one from his coach informing him he has a meeting at 1pm with Adam Silver, the goddamn commissioner of the NBA who’s flying in to have a conversation with him about “unsavory behavior” and his “reflection on the sport as a whole.” He’d like to tell his mother not to worry and Mycroft to shove it, but figures he should get through the meeting in one piece first.

\---  
Seven hours later, John is drained. He has listened to every variation of “We’re not homophobic, but…” and “In the best interest of all involved we think that …” for the past two and half hours. On the upside, they’re not kicking him out, and Sherlock isn’t going to get fired or transferred. On the downside, we’re back to ignoring it. According to Adam Silver and his team of PR Professionals, the video footage of the kiss is pretty terrible quality since so many people were around John after we went down, and “it really would be best to just let this all blow over” – ie, John should go back to pretending not to be a bisexual in love with a man. On the way out, Coach Fisher claps him on the back and tells him he’s glad the meeting went so well. John forces a smile and nods. He supposes it’s better than getting yelled at.

Afterwards he breaks the news to Sherlock, who has been eerily quiet since the whole thing happened. He can tell Sherlock is holding himself back from apologizing again, and it’s breaking his heart. He doesn’t know how to keep what he’s worked so hard for, get what he wants, and still make Sherlock feel like the most important thing that’s ever happened to him, who should never have to hide. Where words fail him, his actions don’t as he lays Sherlock out and slowly takes him apart. When evening rolls around, both are cocooned in sweaty sticky sheets. John kisses Sherlock on the nose, “Why don’t you grab a quick shower while I see if I can rummage up something to eat from whatever nonsense is in your fridge?” Sherlock groans about getting out of bed, food never a good motivator for the younger man, and curls tighter around John. John gives in for a moment, but then disentangles himself from the ridiculously long arms and legs he’s trapped under. “Well I’m hungry. If you don’t want a shower, suit yourself, but I’m making something to eat, and you are going to eat it.” Sherlock nods into the pillow, which John takes as agreement, so he gets up off the bed, reclaims his clothing, and makes his way back into the kitchen that has become even more familiar to him than his own. 

When Sherlock joins him 35 minutes later (of course it would take him forever to shower), John has compiled an eggplant and pasta dish. Sherlock gives it a curious look and raises an eyebrow. “I started putting half my shopping in your fridge about two months ago,” John supplies as an answer. “Why am I not surprised you never noticed?”, he adds as an afterthought. Appeased, Sherlock just shrugs and takes a seat. They eat in a comfortable silence, and afterwards, the two move to the couch. Sherlock has found a series of BBC documentaries on the Human Body he wants to watch and criticize, and John is happy to spend the night on the couch watching the love of his life by the flickering of the television screen.

\--

The next morning it’s Sherlock that’s the first to get out of bed. He tucks the sheets tighter around John and gets dressed in his usual attire before leaving a note letting John know he’s heading to work early. Once Sherlock gets to the courts, he pulls out his phone and frowns at the texts he’d gotten the day before from Carmello asking him to come in early for a chat. He sends off a text letting the team captain know he’s there, and the response to come into the locker rooms is almost immediate. 

When he walks in and sees the entire team lined up facing him, he almost immediately walks out again, but thinking of how much this all means to John makes him stay put. “Hello,” he says awkwardly. 

“Thanks for coming Sherlock,” responds Anthony, “after what happened on Sunday a few of the guys just had a few questions, and we were hoping you could answer them.”

“What about John?”, asks Sherlock not trusting the situation one bit.

Carmello levels him a meaningful look, “We’d really rather ask you.” When Sherlock still looks like he’s about to turn and flee, he adds, “Look, we like John. We want him. He’s a good man and a good player. As long as he keeps hitting threes, we don’t care much who he’s getting it with.”

Sherlock hesitantly nods in acquiescence but remains standing when they offer him a seat. 

Arron goes first, “So you’re gay?”

“Yes.”

“And John?”

“John’s bisexual.”

“So he sleeps with everyone?” someone yells from the back.

“No, he sleeps with me.”

There’s a bit of laughter at that response, and the questions go on smoothly from there. One or two raise concerns about changing in front of John or getting help from Sherlock, which Sherlock shuts down with “I can assure you that neither John nor I will do anything inappropriate or ever make you feel uncomfortable.” When he says this another teammate yells out, “Yeah, ain’t nobody finding you attractive!” and the whole room dissolves into an argument about who’s the hottest and could possibly catch John’s attention, which Sherlock thinks is rather besides the point. He rolls his eyes at their idiocy, checks his watch, and makes to leave. No one stops him, but as he reaches for the handle of the door, he hears a question that’s asked quietly, yet immediately shuts up the room - “Do you love him?”

Sherlock closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “More than you can even fathom”, he answers clearly, bearing his soul to them, before opening the door and stepping out, not looking back to see their reaction.


	12. A Big Fuck You

The team waits exactly two games before saying “fuck that” to the “let’s hide it and pretend it never happened” policy. It’s February 22nd, a week and a day since Sherlock’s now infamous kiss, and the media has found plenty of other much more interesting drama to talk about than a shotty footage of a kiss barely seen around the circle of bodies that had been standing around them. But today, when the New York Knicks step out onto the court instead of the usual white and blue, every player has got on rainbow socks. Their shoes are sporting rainbow laces. Pride patches have been sewn on their gym bags. As Anthony told them in the locker room the day before after practice, “this is New York goddammit, and it’s 2016, and we’re not ashamed of our 6th man.”

When John walks into the locker room 3 hours before game time like he’s supposed to, the only thought on his mind is that he's ready to be back in the game after sitting out the last two while his leg healed. It takes him a moment to process that the rest of the team is already dressed, and another moment after that to process their attire. His mouth drops open and he stares. When he finds his words, he just says, “If anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.” That earns him a laugh from the team, and effectively breaks the ice.

“We know! Bi, right? Sherlock told us,” Langston says.

John nods, “Well, did you listen? Because this”, he says pointing at the nearest rainbow paraphernalia, “This is the gay pride flag.”

Carmello shrugs like it never occurred to him that it would make a difference, “Short notice, alright?” “And if it bothers you that much we’ll just say they’re for Sherlock,” he adds with a grin.

John can’t argue with that, so he gets dressed, Arron chucking an extra pair of rainbow socks at his head before he can pull on his own, and the whole team stands up as one to walk out on the court.

And so it was, the New York Knicks walked out onto the court to face the Raptors on February 22, 2016 clad in rainbow in an effort to show young athletes everywhere, and old misers everywhere, that yeah, John is queer, and yes they still love him, still support him. And yes, he can still whoop the ass of everyone who has two feet on him from the 3 point line. Tonight, they’ve decided to make media the NBA can’t ignore.

When Coach Fisher sees them all walk out onto the court, he sighs. Deep down he knows they’re right, he also knows it’s probably _his_ job. Instead of making a fuss that he knows will only be ignored he makes a split minute decision, “John, come here.”

“Yes, sir?”, John asks tentatively.

“You’re starting.”

“What?” John asks bewildered; he was expecting admonishment, not to start.

“Don’t ask questions. Just start,” he says, “Oh, and someone go get his date from the training room”, he adds.

The team stares blankly at him, and no one moves.

Fisher rolls his eyes, “Arron, please go get Sherlock. Now.”

Arron and Carmello sprint to find him and drag him out onto the court a minute later. He looks around, see the rainbows. Blinks. Calculates. Blinks again. “John?”

Instead of John, it’s Fisher who answers, “Get over here you idiot, I don’t got all day!”

“Have”

“What?!?”

“It's I do- nothing. Coach?”

“John’s starting,” he says simply, “Thought you’d want to see it.”

Sherlock looks like a deer caught in headlights, and looks to John for direction. John smiles and nods. Sherlock jerks his head in the same direction. “Yes, please. Thank you,” he manages.

\--

45 minutes before the game a referee stomps over to their bench to tell them they can’t wear the rainbow socks without official permission from the league.

Her announcement is met by cold stares and raised eyebrows, “Well,” she sneers “you can _technically_ wear them. But they’ll fine you $10,000 a person for stepping out the court. You’re little statement surely isn’t worth that,” she adds sounding viciously victorious.

Some of the new players squirm, but Carmello immediately turns on them, “Don’t you dare take ‘em off”

“But –“ one of the rookies starts.

“No. First of all, you have to play to get fined. Second,” he says, counting off on his fingers, “If it’s that big a problem, I’ll cover you, and three, don’t be a pussy.”

After that, no one seems to have anything else to say, so Carmello nods once and turns back the ref, “Thank you ma’am we appreciate the notice,” he says as sweetly as possible.

She nods, a scowl on her face as she turns and makes her way back to the scoring table.

\--

Twenty minutes before the game, the lights begin to flash and upbeat music comes on as the announcer begins to announce first the Raptors, and then the Knicks starting lineup. When John takes the final spot on the Knicks roster, the crowd is a bit surprised, but they cheer nonetheless. When John finishes high-fiving his way down the line of teammates on his way to the court, he reaches over to where Sherlock is standing off to the side, and before he can protest drags him out onto the court with him. When they're both standing in the middle of the court, John reaches up and grabs his shirt collar to pull him down for a kiss. Sherlock follows and responds enthusiastically.

The second nationally televised NBA kiss is met with a lot more excitement and cheering than the first, and this time the cameras have a clear shot as the two man share their moment. John sincerely wants to give a finger to the NBA bosses who are watching as a big “Fuck You!”, but he doesn’t want to give them any reason to censor this on TV. He’ll just have to think it instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the end. You can stop reading here. The next chapter is an "epilogue" and covers a series of dates spattered through the course of the rest of the story and into the future.
> 
> Side note: This story was born out of a random fic request on Tumblr. So if anyone would like to see me try to write something else, I'm open to suggestions.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for "more courting time" so here's a short collection of some of John and Sherlock's dating adventures.

The day before Christmas Sherlock and John make their way through a fresh layer of snow to a nearby duck pond. The water isn’t frozen and few resilient mallards are still braving the winter. John pulls a loaf out of his bag and shares it with Sherlock, and in turn, they both share it with the very hungry ducks. Sherlock underestimates their viciousness and tries to offer a duck bread from his hand. After almost losing a finger, falling on his rump, and pushing himself hastily away covering himself in snow, John decides it’s more fun to chuck bread at Sherlock and see the ducks swarm. 

\--

After the disaster of John’s meeting with the NBA they are blessed with a week off – their first extended period of time off work since they’ve been a couple. John invited Sherlock to his cabin in Vermont. Sherlock immediately points out that it is February and Vermont is cold, and can they instead visit his family’s villa in France. John counters that if they go to France they’ll be close to England and his mother and sister will insist on seeing them. Sherlock makes a face at that, and offers, “Mycroft has a place in Gambia. I could ask him if we could use it?” And although the thought of asking Mycroft for anything physically pains him, seeing John in swim trunks and with a golden tan is well worth whatever favors he owes his brother. 

\--

The morning after Sherlock and John’s second on-screen kiss, Orchestra tickets from Mycroft show up on the doorstep that simply say “Congrats on your coming out. Might we be expecting a happy announcement sometime soon?” Sherlock wants to burn them in a fit of frustration, but John points out that Sherlock loves the New York Philharmonic and Sherlock can’t argue with that. He spends the entire show fingering imaginary chords and muttering under his breath. John finds him absolutely adorable.

\--

For their one year anniversary Sherlock and John go back to the museum they went to for their first date. Sherlock makes friends with a very inquisitive seven year old and spends 2 hours explaining everything in the anatomy section to him. Both John and the boy’s mother feel the need to apologize to one another, which ends up with them both shaking their heads and laughing about it.  
For the next few months John tries to find a movie Sherlock will sit through. He tears apart Lethal Weapon for its inaccuracy, predicts Psycho in the first 10 minutes, scoffs at About a Boy “Really John, a romantic comedy?”, falls asleep before the second disk of the Lord of the Rings, acts like Jumangi is physically painful, and walks out the door when John suggests a Disney movie. John is torn between The Silence of the Lambs, Batman Begins, and Hoosiers for his next attempt - he figures Sherlock has to love at least one movie and he’s got a lifetime to find it. It’s when that fond thought crosses his mind, another one almost immediately follows.

\--

Sherlock’s mid-rant about the importance of long word and how it interacts with other looong word, and John's tuned him out 15 minutes ago but can’t stop smiling, when all of a sudden it slips out, “Marry me”.

Sherlock doesn’t seem to have heard him at first, continuing on in his explanation until he’s finished that particular thought, but as he takes a deep breath to continue, John can seem him mentally backtracking through the previous few minutes. Sherlock freezes , “What did you say?”

Well, it wasn’t exactly how John had been intending to propose – he’d pictured a nice dinner at the very least – but he supposes the spontaneity and informality of it fits them perfectly, “You heard me,” he says smirking, “Marry me you beautiful, intelligent mad man. I want to spend the rest of my life listening to you explain anatomy in the most complex manner possible, going on wild adventures with you, listening to classical music, making the NBA uncomfortable, and attempting to find a movie you’ll sit through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! It's been fun. I hope you enjoyed my first foray into fanfiction as much as I did.
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at peoplenormallysaypissoff for Sherlock goodness or whtbout2ndbrkfst for everything else.
> 
> This was born out of a random fic request. So if anyone would like to see me try to write something else, I'm open to suggestions.


End file.
